I don't belong in Brooklyn
by HOPS
Summary: I don't know why I came to America in the first place. To be honest, six months ago just the thought of New York would scare me. Well, somehow I got here, and I know I left home without warning. I'm gonna have to go back, sooner or later. But I don't wana
1. Default Chapter

Chapter one:  
  
I woke and got out of the bed that I share with Spot. We been together for six months now. It's great.  
  
"Gidge?" Spot muttered, turning over in the bed. He was reacting to the empty space beside him. I had my back to him, with my shirt off.  
  
"Oh, I hadn't noticed you was awake," I said, really trying to pick up the New York accent. If the general public knew I was British, they's think I was a snob or something.  
  
"Well, I's am," he said with a groan sitting up. I slipped a shirt on over my shoulders and buttoned it just enough to cover all things that didn't need to be seen. Yes, you're thinking that female newsies wear dresses and the like, well, that just isn't my style. It's half the reason I left 'jolly old England'.  
  
I mean, have you EVER had to wear a corset? Those things are the most uncomfortable articles of clothing you can own. I miss bras, though, as I am slightly over sized in that area.  
  
"How'd ya sleep?" I'm getting better, really.  
  
"Jus' fine, sweetie, you?" He smiled his dopey smile that makes him look like a frog. 'He's so cute when he just wakes up' I thought to myself.  
  
"Poifect. Do ya want me ta leave you be as you git ready?" I said I was better, not perfect. He just shook his head. "I'll leave ya anyways."  
  
"What eva, lovey dovey baby," he said, quoting the song from Medda's last show. I grabbed my hat, a plain black newsie cap, and left the room. Two minutes later I heard the water in the bathroom running and in another three, Spot was out.  
  
He slipped his arm around my waist, a well practiced gesture, and pulled me towards the door. We left and walked out for our papes. We probably looked odd, as my hair was under my hat and I resembled a very pretty boy. No one says anything anymore.  
  
"So, how many ya be takin' taday?" Spot asked as we approached the distribution window. Manhattan's is much nicer, Brooklyn's is just a hole in the wall with bars on it.  
  
"I'm thinkin' fifty taday," I replied after a moment to read the headlines. They weren't that bad today. Weren't that good, but not bad. We walked up, Spot threw some coins at the cage, and he picked up our papers. "You gotta stop buyin' me papes, you gonna break yaself one day."  
  
"Nah, 'tis my pleasure to buy the lovely lady her papes." I hate it when he mocks my British accent. I got enough of that on the boat coming from Ireland. That was when I was 14, the youngest girl on the boat. I know I said I was from England, but getting to America is harder than credit is given.  
  
"I thought I told ya not ta do that, especially in public," I whispered, giving his hand a not-so-tender squeeze. I had met Spot right as I got here. He was selling on the docks and immediately started making fun of my accent. He followed me around for some reason, until he realized I didn't have a place to stay.  
  
He took me to his lodging house, "for the night", and I'm still staying there. He's asked me before why I left home, and I'm never sure what to say. It's not like I'm running from anyone, or the good life, or anything like that. I guess I was sick of it, so I left. I swear I was drunk when I got on the boat. I planned on going home again, but Spot's keeping me here. And I don't mind.  
  
"Au, but yer accent is so cute," he pointed out. Whatever. "An' why should you git ta imitate my accent, an' I can't yours?"  
  
"Because, I say so." The simple answer. He's heard it before. But I only slip back to English talk when I'm mad, so only he knows. And I like it that way.  
  
We spent a whole two hours screaming the headlines. I guess they weren't as good as I thought.  
  
I'd heard allot of rumors about Spot and his girls. About how he's a father several times over. I can't believe it, he's always so respectful of me. Not how I'd expect an over-sexed ass-hole to act. But I've seen him talking to girls with babies, and suddenly I believe it. Only, not one of those girls has warned me about him.  
  
"So, tell me again why you left England?" Spot asked. It's a score subject, and he knows that.  
  
"We been ova dis before, I was visetin' friends in Ireland an' I got drunk. By the time I was sober enough to know what had happened, I was halfway here." Same story. He's heard it before, but he never believes me. I think that he thinks that I think that he can't handle the truth. But that is the truth.  
  
"You tell me dat every time, an' every time you sound as if you's leavin' somethin' out." Yeah, yeah, yeah. Heard that before.  
  
"But that's the truth, you're jus' gonna have ta except that. I've told you everything I know. If I'm not tellin' you somethin', I'm not telling myself somethin'." He still didn't believe me, I could see it in his eyes. That's what I love about him, his whole life can be told through his eyes.  
  
"Let's go see Jacky Boy," he said, defeated and having given up. I don't think so. Ever since Jack lost Sarah, he's been dead set on me. She died of scarlet fever, along with poor little Les, the only one of the two I'll miss. That was four months ago. Spot hadn't noticed Jack's tendency to act as a wedge.  
  
"No, why don't we go visit the Harlem boys." I have friends in that neck of the city. I knew Spot wouldn't agree, his eyes tell all.  
  
"Well, I's sorta havin' problems with Stare." See, I told ya.  
  
"In that case, why don't we jus' head back to the LH?"  
  
"That idea I like." He slipped his arm around my wais and kissed me. Then we went to spend the rest of the morning at the LH.  
  
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OK, this is really different then my other Fanfic, 'A time In The Past'. I'm bored and have a bit of a writer's block. Add that to the inspiration of a new newsie character, and you get this story. Please review and tell me what you think.  
  
PS: This is NOT a Mary Sue story. She is from England, but doesn't have any real reason to have left. I guess she was just bored. 


	2. Past explained, A bit

Chapter two:  
  
Flashback in Ireland:  
  
"OOO, what's this lovely drink?" I asked, my words slurred from my drunkenness. What the heck was I doing here? I'm drunk, I know that much, but how did I get that way?  
  
"That, my dear, is a very expensive scotch," the man that had been buying my drinks said. I was still sober enough to know that he definitely had something planned with getting me drunk. Oh well, drink up.  
  
"Scotch, you say? Very," I paused to search for the word, "sophisticated." I had another glass. Now I couldn't tell who's feet were mine, let alone right from left.  
  
"Let's git outta here," he said, grabbing my hand and pulling me towards the door.  
  
"OK, Mister. Where are we goin'?" My words were now far too slurred to be interpreted. We were in the street now.  
  
"You'll see." His voice was husky. We walked for about three blocks. I think three, but I was too drunk to care. He gave me a nudge towards a dark alley. I walked in. We walked just out of sight of passer-bys.  
  
He pressed his half-rotted mouth to mine. I should have protested, but there wasn't enough blood in my alcohol stream. He was slipping my dress down my shoulders when I blacked out.  
  
When I woke up, there were a few bills beside my and my skirts were up to my thighs. My dress top was pulled all the way down to my waist, exposing me. I fixed my shirt before I stood. My legs ached and my head hurt. My clothes were dirty and my hair mussed.  
  
I bent and grabbed the money. I went back to the pub and bought myself a few drinks. Before I knew it, the tender had cut me off. It was dark outside, and once again, I was drunk. I still had some money left.  
  
I went to the docks and bought a ticket for the next boat to America. I boarded the ship, went to my 'room', and slept. When I woke again, the boat was far out to see, no land in sight. I wandered out on to the deck.  
  
"Sir, can you tell me where I am?" I asked the first man on the deck.  
  
"Oh, a Brit, didn't know we had one of those on board." He immediately was pointing out my accent. Just like I could have pointed out his Irish accent, but didn't. "This be the S.S. Mary Sue, bound for America on this trip, she is."  
  
I nearly fell down. America? I must have been more drunk last night than I'd originally thought. I can't remember anything but the pub from the last two nights.  
  
"By the looks of ye, you won't last three days in New York City." Oh, now he's challenging me. Note to self: get on different boat to go home. I'm gonna need a job to get there, won't I?  
  
"No, I'll do just fine," I spat. If there's anything I hate more than someone pointing out my British-ness, it's them thinking I can't do anything because I'm a girl.  
  
"What ever ye say, girly." He doesn't believe me. I'll show him.  
  
Two weeks. Two long, hard weeks. Over that time I pieced together the events of the past two nights. I came to the conclusion that America would be just the place to make myself forget what had happened.  
  
When we reached our destination, my only dress was ruined, and my hair was badly matted. I had no idea what to do. Just then:  
  
"Extra, Extra!" Some idget calling out headlines broke my line of thought. I stared for a moment. He saw me and walked over. "You's from Ireland?"  
  
"No, England," I said, attempting to cover my accent.  
  
"Oh, a British goil. What a cute little accent." Wonderful, the cocky newsboy was making fun of me. I made an attempt to just walk away, but the boy stopped me. "What, I'm not good enough for you to talk to?"  
  
I just kept on walking. He stopped once to sell his last paper, and followed me. No matter what I did, I couldn't shake him. I walked around one block three times. He caught up to me and asked if I had a place to stay.  
  
"No," I said under my breath after a long pause.  
  
"Den you're stayin' wit me." He said it like I had no say in the matter. And I didn't.  
  
___________________~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~____________________  
  
So that's Gidge's story. I told you it wasn't a Mary Sue story. So whatchya think? Please review. I's like to know what you think. 


	3. Unthinkable

Chapter three:  
  
"So, whadda ya wanna do?" I asked after about five minutes of silence.  
  
"I dunno, what do you wanna do?" Spot answered. Great, this is gonna be another we-don't-know-what-ta-do day, isn't it.  
  
"We're alone, in an empty lodging house, what is there ta do?" Not much, I know that already. But I don't want to leave because of all the guys I want to avoid that are unavoidable outside our LH.  
  
"Well, we's could do de unthinkable," Spot said after a moment with a sly grin.  
  
"NO, we couldn't, we shouldn't," I said, a smile touching my lips, also.  
  
"But dere's nothin' betta ta do," he continued to persuade. And by-jove, frog-boy's done it.  
  
"OK, we'll do it." At that point I start laghing. We stand up in unison and head over to one of the beds. I lift the mattress and Spot pulls out the slim brown box. It's Wood's private stuffs, he doesn't let anyone see it.  
  
We all have our private stuffs. Mine is hidden under a floor tile in Spot's bathroom. Nobody knows that, but everyone knows where Wood's is. We are all sworn to never touch a newsboy's stuff without permission. Punishment would be given by Spot. What would he do to me? I mean, he can't do anything because I was only an partner in crime.  
  
"Should we?" I ask again. I know we shouldn't, but I figure, he should have hidden it better. We just stare at the box for about two minutes, then Spot opens it.  
  
Inside the box isn't anything too interesting. Just some pornography (big surprise) and old pictures, probably of old family. Tucked away in a bag in the corner is some money. Nice to know I'm not the only one saving for something.  
  
"What do you think dat's for?" Spot said, referring to the money.  
  
"Why should I know. It's not my money." This has proven to be boring, so we slip the box back under the mattress and leave it. "I think I'll go take a nap. Go do something else for a while."  
  
"Why, ya wanna be left alone?" he said mockingly. I just nodded and I guess that was enough for him. "Eh, I'll go hang out with ol' Jacky-boy an' his newsies." He walked out casting a wave over his shoulder.  
  
As soon an his footsteps disappeared down the stairs, I shot into his room and through the door that led to the private bathroom. I knelt down and lifted the tile.  
  
I don't really have anything private, just a stash of money that I plan to use to get home. I pull out all the coins, most of which are pennies, and the four single dollar bills. I add the makings of the day to the pile and count it. It amounts to just over ten dollars, not quite enough for what I need.  
  
I put everything back in the hole and put the tile back in place. I walk out back into Spot's room to take said nap. But before I even get to the bed someone says my name.  
  
"Gidge," he says. I turn on my heal just to verify who was talking. I was right, it was Jack. "Where'd Spot go off to?" he continued, making it seem like he really didn't know that he'd left.  
  
"What are ya doin' here, Jack?" I ask. He has no reason to be here, he wasn't invited.  
  
"I jus' came ta see you, thought maybe you'd be a little lonely without Spot." Yeah, thought I was lonely, I believe him.(sarcasm)  
  
"Well, Jack, I can take care of myself, an' I ain't lonely. So you can leave." I'm hoping that he'll leave with that, but instead he walks farther into the room, closing the door behind him.  
  
"Gidge, baby, you know I've been so lonely eva since I lost Sarah." I don't like where this is going. "I was kinda hopin' that you might help keep me company." Really don't like this.  
  
"Get outta my room," I say, backing away from him. He keeps coming closer until I'm up against the wall. "I said get out." Now I'm talking British talk. God help me if he notices.  
  
He puts a hand on either side of my head, pinning me against the wall. I know I can't take him, not without Spot to help me. Stupid Spot, can't see that Jack, his best friend, wants me. He doesn't know to protect me.  
  
"Now Gidge, tell me, honestly, what's Spot got dat I don't?" He keeps getting closer, and he's way too close for comfort just being in the same room alone. I never answer. "That's what I thought." He presses his mouth against mine and my eyes bug out. I knee him, well, you know where, and when he pulls away, slap him across the face. He stumbles backwards, giving me a chance to escape.  
  
"For one thing, Spot respects me," I mutter. "And, Spot knows where ta stop, an' I like Spot." I push him out of me way and go to the door. He recovers much faster than I would have expected and grabs me when I'm fumbling with the knob.  
  
"Oh, but Gidge, you dunno what you want, 'till you'v tried more dan one thing." He throws me at the bed, but I land on the floor. "Now, let's be civil. No more a dis violent stuff. You gimme what I want, an' I'll leave you alone."  
  
"An' how long would that last?" I say, all traces of me New York accent gone. "You got lonely pretty damn fast after Sarah died." He hit me across the face and I screamed.  
  
"What are ya afraid a? It's not like ya haven't done stuff wit Spot." He's wrong. Spot an' me haven't gone very far. To be honest, I had no intention of it, and Spot was fine with that.  
  
___________________~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~____________________  
  
I apologize for the cliffhanger. And I want to thank all of those who reviewed. This proves my theory that it's all in the title and genre. Oh, never mind. I have solved the mystery of who Patrick from "Caryin' The Banna'", it's Racetrack. There's this boy at our school that looks just like Race, and his name is Patrick Longfellow. Coincidence? I think not.  
  
Please review! I luv you all. Goodnight. 


	4. Spot to save the day

Chapter Four:  
  
"Jack, STOP!" I shouted again and again, but to no avail. There was no stopping this freak. At this point he was sucking at my neck and trying to work off my pants, all while keeping me pinned to the floor.  
  
Just when I thought all was lost, Jack was suddenly yanked off of me. I was gasping for air. I looked past the now on his feet Jack, and saw an extremely pissed off Spot standing behind him, pulling back his arm to deliver a punch tho Jack's nose that would surely send him flying. I realized that almost too late, and only barely made it out from the spot on the floor I'd been lying before Jack landed where I would have been.  
  
"What the HELL do ya think you was doin?" Spot screamed, along with a few other profanities that I will not repeat. He jumped on top of him and started throwing punches left and right at his face, which had already been bloodied.  
  
"STO IT!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. Spot had heard, but didn't stop, so I jumped on his back and did my best to pull him off. "STOP! Spot, you're hurting him!" I had completely reverted back to my accent by this point.  
  
It was another few minutes before I finally peeled him off of Jack, who was beaten to a bloody pulp on the floor. I don't think he even got one good punch at Spot. I'm not sure if I should have any sort of pity for him or not, considering the circumstances.  
  
________________________~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~____________________ I hear Jack was hurt pretty bad. I haven't seen him since the fight. Spot came out of it with barely a bruise. Can you blame him for getting pissed? I mean, Jack was like, trying stuff.  
  
"Why hadn't you told me that Jack was tryin' ta get ya?" Spot asks me a few hours after it's over/ I've spent most of that time in the corner thinking stuff through.  
  
"I-I don't know," I answer unsurely, completely letting my accent go, "I don't think I thought much of it at first."  
  
"Is this the first time he's done anything like this?" My god, Spot's speaking proper English, only no accent. That's never good. Never. And Jack has. Just never so seriously. Small stuff, like flirting, heavy flirting. I can't tell Spot that. I prefer him out of the Refuge. And I also prefer Jack alive.  
  
"Yeah, that's the first." I lied. Oh well. Who cares?  
  
"If he EVER tries anything like that again," Spot says threateningly, "Or anything else, I'll kill him." He finishes his sentence and looks at me in this way that means he means business. "I mean it."  
  
"Spot," I start unsure of what I'm about to say, "I-" I stop and my eyes start watering. What the hell am I doing. "Never mind."  
  
"No, Gidge, tell me," he asks. Why had I said anything. I can't ever tell Spot that I want to go home. Not until I'm gone.  
  
"It's-it's nothing. It doesn't matter," I said, stuttering. Stupid, stupid, stupid! I could hit myself. Now he's never going to give up about finding out what I was gonna say.  
  
"Okay," he said simply. Wow, he left it at that. "I-uh-I'm gonna go sell the afternoon editition now. I'm guessing you'd rather stay here?"  
  
"Um, yeah. I'm gonna take that nap I said I was going to."  
  
He left and I was alone again. Wouldn't last long, I knew. There are those of us that come home after just the morning selling. Any minute now, Skittles, Smint, and M&M will walk through the LH outer door.  
  
Skittles is a small girl around the age of eight. Her hair is really long, down to her knees. She has green eyes that may be bright, but have been dulled by a life on the street. She sells with Smint, a tall thin girl with hair that she's cut short. She did that for to fit it under her hat. Her eyes are a simple brown buy somehow hold life. Incredibly sad life, but life. She's been through a lot.  
  
M&M is Smint's boy friend. His brown hair and blue eyes don't make him stand in a crowd, and he isn't tall either. He's actually very short, for his age, at least. Smint must have a thing for short guys. He has a great sense of humor, though.  
  
I'm just nodding off when I hear them all come in loudly. Skittles is laughing at something that M&M said. I let myself slip and I dream of home. God I miss it. I can't wait until I have enough money to go back.  
  
When I wake up, Spot's there on the edge of his bed stroking my hair. I just look up at him and smile. He looks down at me and gives me the most caring look that any guy can give. And then I know that I can never leave him. I have to save double now.  
  
"Hey, how ya doin'," he asks softly.  
  
"I've seen betteh days," I say, stretching my arms in front of me. "But seein' you makes it dat much more worth livin'." We just look at eachother for a bit, then I realize that there isn't any light filtering in through the small window. "Eh, what time is it?"  
  
"Eight o-clock."  
  
"Oh, should we go and get somethin' ta eat?" I ask, sitting up.  
  
"Only if you want to." I nod and pull the covers off me. Did I fall asleep fully dressed save for my shoes? "Okay, then I s'pose we should go now."  
  
I slip my boots on and we head in the direction of Tibby's. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll tell him about wanting to go home. And about wanting to take him with me.  
  
___________________~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~____________________  
  
Hi all. I apologize for the lack of new chapter in, like, forever. I can tell you that I will be updating all of my ff's more often than I have been. And yes, this was a short chapter. All of my new ones end up being short right now. . . Hmmm. . . Oh well. Shout-outs.  
  
Thistle- Yes, I am giving Jack some un-expected character flaws. Spot came, so that is good.  
  
Imaginelet- Thank you so much for reviewing, not only this story, but my other ones, too. I hope to update more often, though.  
  
Race- Erg, I dun feel like typing your name. It's been way too long since last chapter. Sleep, I need sleep. 


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